Never Walk Alone
by WandererLost
Summary: Roland Walker, Wizard-in-Training: The memories of a man, kept within the mind of a boy. With knowledge from a world where Harry Potter is just a story, he has every intention of guiding Harry to a happy ending, a life filled with friends once-lost. But Harry isn't Harry. She's Heather Potter. Changes have come about with a Girl-Who-Lived, and Roland now must solve all-new problems


**Never Walk Alone**

**Chapter 1: A Meeting of Minds****  
**

**11****th**** August, 1990**

** 11:36AM**

**7 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey**

It was almost noon when Sarah Walker heard the first of a series of loud thumps emanating from her sons room. Thinking her child had finally rolled out of bed after sleeping in all morning, she set the mug of cocoa she had been idly sipping down along with her book and headed down the short hall to the bedrooms, intent on teasing the boy over sleeping so long.

By the time she had reached the door to his room, the staccato beat had yet to cease. '_What is that boy doing?_' she thought to herself, before rapping twice on the door.

"Roll, you okay in there?" she asked through the door.

The thumping continued, and no response from the boy was forthcoming from within the bedroom.

Curiosity now overriding her respect for his privacy, Sarah turned the doorknob and pushed. The door swung open, revealing her son half-way on his bed with his feet skittering on the floor beside it. His arms twitched with frenetic energy, while his fingers clenched spasmodically at the sheets wrapped about his torso. His normally deep blue eyes, now filmed over in white, darted blindly back forth as if dreaming.

She was at his side in a flash, gripping his still-twitching arms. "Roll? Roland, baby, wake up!" She repeated her mantra for a short time, as his fits began to recede.

Sarah smoothed her sons brown locks away from his face, and though his seizure had almost entirely halted , Roland was still unresponsive. Sarah gently cradled him, whispering soothing words to the young boy, though she was holding back sobs between breaths.

Over the next few moments, as Sarah held him in her arms, Roland's spasms eased until he was finally still. After a moment he let out a small sigh, before his eyes fluttered open and locked onto his mother, who still held him close.

"Mom?" he asked thickly, his speech slurred. "Why're we on the ground for?"

"Oh god, baby, oh thank the lord." She hugged him tightly, crying into his hair. "I was so scared, what _happened?_"

A look of confusion passed over Roland's features, before he winced, palming his forehead in pain. "Oh sunuva..."

Sarah jerked upright, "I'm taking you to the hospital."

She scooped the ten-year-old up, blankets and all, and carried him out to the living room. She gingerly placed him on the _chaise longue_, before bustling about the adjacent kitchen, collecting her car-keys and purse.

Sarah returned to the living room and once again lifted her son, turning and heading out the door to the attached garage. Supporting Roland with one arm, she opened the front passenger seat of the family minivan, and placed him inside and buckling the disoriented boy securely in. Sarah hurried into the drivers seat, before opening the garage door and backing out into the street. The auto was already around the corner and speeding down the lane before the garage door had finished closing.

Unbeknownst to both occupants, a pair of vivid green eyes were watching every second, shrouded in worry for the friendly young boy they had taken to watching from afar the past year.

Less than ten minutes had passed since Roland began his seizure.

Half an hour later, a lithe, black-haired girl set off in the direction of the nearby hospital, intent on getting some answers.

**11****th**** August, 1990**

** 11:53AM**

** Ashford Hospital, Ashford, Surrey**

Roland Walker was having the most painful, and not to mention bizarre, experience of his life. He had woken this morning with the most intense migraine he'd ever known, and an overpowering sensation of _wrongness_, before blacking out and – according to his mother – going into an epileptic fit.

That's not to mention the extra twenty-odd years of memories that had somehow lodged themselves firmly in his mind. He was quite certain this was the cause of his previous _grand mal_ seizure.

Plus his vastly-expanded vocabulary. That was unquestionably a new acquisition.

As his mother – she was so _young_ now – wheeled him into the lobby of Ashford Hospital, Roland marshaled his thoughts, and attempted to formulate an explanation for his fit this morning. After briefly considering lying completely, he decided the best bet was telling the truth.

A bad headache woke him from a dead sleep, before he blacked out again from the pain.

The bit about the memories would be edited out though. He may very well end up in a sanatorium letting _that_ one go. If he wasn't already in one, and hallucinating the whole situation, that is.

Roland discarded the thought. Doubting his sanity would get him nowhere fast, best to just roll with it as it comes.

'_Let's see... I'm currently ten years old, English, and apparently have a history of strange occurrences whenever I get overly emotional.' _Something was definitely going on here, considering he had gone to bed twenty-three, American, and about as average as one could get.

There was more to it than that though. He could also recall growing up in London, going to primary, and being an all-around British lad. It made for some confusing recollection of his past, and his accent was swinging all over the place. He'd even used 'mom', rather than the usual British 'mum' this morning!

The accent, at least, he could pretend to blame on after-effects of the seizure.

"Roll?" His mother's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. She was looking at him expectantly, while a man in a lab coat and stethoscope stood nearby, poring over a chart in his hands.

They had apparently gotten into an examination room while he was lost in thought.

"Whu?" he replied intelligently. Probably not the most impressive of reactions, but he was still genuinely somewhat loopy from the whole ordeal.

"I asked you if you need help getting on the bed," she repeated, a look of concern marring her appearance.

"Oh. No, I think I got it." Roland pushed himself up out of the wheelchair, and gingerly stepped up the stool and onto the bed, minding his aches.

The doctor set the clipboard aside, before turning to speak to Roland. "Now then young man, why don't you start from the beginning, and then we can do some tests, okay?"

**11****th**** August, 1990**

** 10:47PM**

** Room 237, Ashford Hospital**

After a dizzying array of questions and a battery of tests, Roland came out with a clean bill of health, but it was decided that he should stay overnight for observation in case of another attack. His mother had called Roland's father and informed him of the epileptic fit, and the decision to stay overnight. Oliver Walker was understandably concerned, and had come to the hospital after ending his shift to check in on his son.

There was a brief interrogation, ending with a relieved father hugging his child fiercely before sending his wife home to get some rest. He decided on staying overnight to watch Roland, just in case.

Roland sat propped up against several pillows, eyes once again closed in thought. He appeared near-asleep to a casual observer. So much so, that Oliver had decided on a trip down to the lobby in search of coffee and snacks.

Roland thought best in solitude anyway.

'_This is all kinds of messed up,'_ mused Roland, who was currently doing his best to organize all of his memories, new and old, to try and figure out what kind of world he was in.

_'There's clearly something unusual at play. Setting aside the whole memory issue,'_ which was a whole 'nother can of worms, Roland thought,_ 'there's still the matter of the... strangeness.'_

There were a number of events that "Roll" – as he had taken to calling his younger mindset, seeing as how both parents insisted on calling him that – caused that defied any rational explanation. Even the slightly-less-rational ones, such as psychic powers, failed to explain the various phenomena that occurred whenever he was exceedingly emotional. That left only one option to consider, and frankly, it was the one Roland was most hopeful for.

_Magic_.

Things like levitation – he _really_ wanted that book down – and starting fires could be psychic in origin, but changing the colors of his bedroom? Or teleportation? That just wasn't something he felt could be filed away under 'psychic'.

All this, combined with the fact that he was ten years old in 1990, in the fictional town of Little Whinging, and a resident of 7 Privet Drive of all places, pointed to one inexplicable truth.

He, Roland Walker, had somehow been transplanted into the world of the Harry Potter novels, as a magical child one year before the start of the story. He was even set to be in the same year as the cast!

He had every notion of abusing his knowledge to the absolute limit.

Thus, he had been plotting. With his foreknowledge, he could hopefully end the conflict before it even _began_, saving everyone a lot of heartache. He could even save Sirius!

Not to mention Fred, or Tonks and Remus. So many could live, as long as he didn't screw it all up.

It was a lot of work, so Roland had been working on breaking everything he could remember down and deciding the best way to utilize it for the Grand Scheme. If he did it right, nobody would even have to know it was his doing, lest they question how he knew what he did. He wasn't sure they would take "I read it in a book" as an acceptable answer.

Even if it _was_ the truth.

His strategizing was interrupted by the sound of scrabbling outside his window, prompting him to crack one eye open to peer at the window. What he saw surprised him, especially since he was on the second floor.

There was a girl perched on the window-ledge, staring at him from beyond the glass. Her green eyes widened in shock at being noticed, and she quickly made to escape, but Roland called out first.

"Wait!" He hoped nobody was nearby, he'd had to nearly shout to be heard beyond the glass.

She stopped, turning back to look at him again, wariness clear in her posture.

"That's pretty nutters, climbing up here. Come in and we can talk?" asked Roland, intent on questioning the mad child who was scaling hospitals. He beckoned with one hand, encouraging he to come inside.

She hesitated a moment longer, before sliding the window open from outside in an impressive display of dexterity and sitting on the ledge, half in the room and half out. Ink-black hair obscured a good deal of her face, and cascaded in an unholy mess of tangles and waves to her shoulders. Well-worn jeans topped with an ill-fitting jumper lent her a somewhat ragged appearance.

"So, what brings you to my window?" asked Roland.

There was a brief second of silence, after which she spoke. "...I wanted to check on you."

Roland quirked an eyebrow. She was familiar from "Roll's" memories, but he couldn't put a name to the face, covered as it was by her wild hair. There was a certain familiarity though.

"Thanks, that's really nice of you." His words were delivered with a warm smile, and his visitor blushed, looking down and away. The movement caused her fringe to fall aside, revealing more of her face, however. There was what looked like a scar on her forehead...

In the shape of a jagged lightning-bolt.

Roland froze, and nearly gaped in shock.

Black, unruly hair, brilliant green eyes, wearing second-hand clothing...

And a _lightning-bolt scar._

"I-I didn't catch your name," stammered Roland, almost disbelieving of his own eyes.

She cocked her head, examining him with those vividly green eyes. There was a moments more silence, as she decided to speak again. "Heather. Heather Potter."

Roland's thought process kicked into over-drive, formulating and discarding plans before settling on one thought.

'_So much for foreknowledge_.'

"Oh. From school right?" The name clicked several memories into place, and "Roll" suddenly recalled a few friendly conversations with the girl, and even one shared lunch. "I guess I didn't recognize you outside of class."

Heather nodded slowly, looking him over once more. "What happened?"

"I had a seizure I guess. I don't remember anything but waking up with a headache, and passing out. My mum found me when she heard me kicking the floor from all the shaking." That was essentially the truth he told the hospital staff as well.

She frowned, obviously concerned. "But you're okay now, right?"

Roland shrugged. "I feel alright, and the doctors didn't find anything when they scanned my head."

She nodded, "That's good. I'd feel bad if anything happened to you." She realized a half-second later what she'd said, and blushed again.

"How'd you even know about this, anyway?" As far as Roland remembered, only himself and his mother were in the house that morning.

"I... was in a tree nearby, and heard your mum yell. I kinda came to look, in case somebody needed help." Her entire face was crimson by now, obviously abashed at admitting to semi-spying.

Well, that was certainly different. "And then you came here to see me, by climbing up a building?"

She looked away, suddenly intensely interested in her trainers.

Roland smiled. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's done for me. Thanks."

Her head snapped up, wide-eyed gaze locking onto his own. "Y-you're welcome. It was nothing really."

He shook his head, "It wasn't nothing. This is probably a good long walk away, isn't it?"

Heather shrugged. "I like running and climbing, so I can get around pretty fast."

"That's cool, sounds like a lot of fun!" He thought sounded like a real kid for a second there...

"I... I could show you some interesting places when you get out, if you want?" she asked, a look of wary hope on her face, and almost surprised at her own braveness.

"That would be real neat, I'd reckon," Roland replied earnestly. "You're a pretty cool friend, Heather."

'_If her eyes get any wider_', Roland thought, '_they'll roll right out of her head._'

"D'you mean that?"

"Of course!" he said, "You came all the way here just to check on me. I'd say we're friends."

Heather grinned widely, "I've never had any friends before... Dudley usually scares people off."

Roland snorted in disgust. "I'm not afraid of that puffed-up tosser."

Suddenly, a voice called out from the hallway, "Roll, that you?"

Heather squeaked, and smoothly rolled out of the window frame, sliding it shut behind her. There was a faint rattling sound, as if someone were shimmying down a pipe.

Roland blinked in shock, before shrugging. Harry was supposed to be pretty agile, he supposed. Heather was even more so.

"Yeah Dad, I was just thinking out loud."

Oliver Walker stepped into the room, paper cup in-hand, steam rising off the hot surface. "How're you feeling?"

"M'okay. Still knackered though."

His father nodded, settling down into the chair next to the bed. "Well, you'd best get some sleep then. Want to be rested for your check-up."

Roland nodded solemnly, burrowing down into the violently green hospital sheets. He still had an obscene amount of planning to do, but there was so much that was affected by the Boy-Who-Lived being replaced with a Girl-Who-Lived. Who knows what else has changed?

Roland fell asleep, contemplating the enigmatic Heather Potter.

**12****th**** August, 1990**

** 11:40AM**

** Lobby, Ashford Hospital**

"Now, if he should have another attack, you understand the procedure?" asked the nurse at the desk, going over Roland's release paper-work.

"Yes ma'am, I memorized it earlier." Oliver was not a man to take medical advice lightly.

"Good. Okay, everything checks out. You have a wonderful day," chirped the bubbly nurse.

Oliver nodded, taking the proffered papers and handing them to his son to hold. Roland's father wheeled his son out of the hospital and to the parking garage, where Roland was quickly buckled into the passenger seat. Oliver deposited the wheelchair in a nearby corral, before getting into the auto himself, and pulled out of the parking garage.

The ride home was filled with idle chatter, as father and son enjoyed time not surrounded by antiseptic and machinery.

His father, Roland thought, was keeping a very good grip over his worry for his son. It was still evident he was concerned over the situation, but was working to deal with it calmly.

As they pulled into the garage at 7 Privet Drive, Sarah came out through the interior door to hug her son tightly, despite his protestations that he was fine.

"Mum, I can walk by myself, really! The hospital even said I'm okay, see?" Roland waved the paperwork at his mother, as if to ward her off.

"Just let her fuss Roll, you can't stop your Mum from worrying over you," called Oliver, stepping around the auto hug his anxious wife. She leaned into his arms, tension easing out in the embrace of her loved ones.

"See Mum? Everything is alright, no need to get all worked up." Roland had some plans, and didn't need her hovering all day, not if he wanted to get anything done.

Sarah merely squeezed him more tightly for a moment, before letting him go and looking him up and down. She sniffed the air lightly, wrinkling her nose, "You stink. Take a shower."

Roland rolled his eyes, before setting off into the house to gather new clothes. A hot shower did sound nice.

Twenty minutes later, a freshly-scrubbed ten-year-old stepped out of the bathroom, and deposited the dirty laundry in his hamper. Roland grabbed his shoes, and headed into the living room in search of his parents.

"Mum? Dad?" he called. Both looked up from their respective places on the couch and chair set.

"What is it Roll?" asked Sarah.

"I'm going to go to the park, is that okay?" Roland was hoping there wouldn't be any disagreement, but the look on his mothers face quickly put that idea out to pasture.

"I don't think that's a good idea Roll," she said.

"I'm fine, really Mum!" He needed to learn as much as he could about one Heather Potter before he could plan any further, and he couldn't do that laying in bed at home.

"I don't like the thought of you being off by yourself," replied his mother, clearly uneasy.

"I'll just be at the park, other kids'll be there too!" Roland exclaimed, determined to speak to Heather.

"He has a point dear," said Oliver. Although he was still concerned over his sons health, he didn't want to lock the poor boy up on such a beautiful day.

Sarah looked conflicted for a long moment, before sighing, "Alright, you can go, but _only_ to the park, and you have to be back in time for dinner."

"Thanks mum!"

Roland was out the door in a flash, before anyone could change their minds. Time to track down the Girl-Who-Lived.

Within minutes, Roland was wandering around the local park, looking for a mop of shaggy black hair. He knew through his memories as "Roll" that Heather was nearly always at the park, or elsewhere around the neighborhood. He knew if he stuck around long enough, she would turn up.

A short time later, his patience paid off and he spotted a pair of legs dangling from a large, old oak. Roland walked up to the tree, and peered upwards at the small girl lounging on the thick branch, before he grinned and clambered up to join her. "Hiya Heather."

Heather jumped, startled at the sudden addition of company, before smiling shyly at her new friend. "Hi Roll, how are you feeling?"

Roland made a face, "Only my parents call me Roll, I like Roland better. Oh, and I'm fine now. Doctors are kinda confused, but they say as long as it doesn't happen again I should be alright."

Heather nodded, then stood up, balanced easily on the steady branch. "Okay, what do you wanna do?"

Roland shrugged, "I dunno, whatever. I just can't leave the park, my mum doesn't want me going too far from home.

Heather pondered that a moment, coming to a decision. "Okay, I can show you the best way to climb around here, if you'd like?"

Roland grinned. "Sure!"

**12****th**** August, 1990**

** 4:24PM**

** Magnolia Road, Little Whinging**

"Your relatives sound like a right bunch of rotters, I say." Roland and Heather had been climbing up and down trees and playground equipment for most of the afternoon now, talking the whole time.

Roland had learned so far, that the life of Heather Jessica Potter – she had told him her middle name early on in the day – was not that far removed from the Harry Potter of the novels. The Dursleys still treated her like a burden and piled chores on her head, but more often than not she managed to escape for the rest of the day to the park or elsewhere where she could vanish.

Some details here and there were different, such as Heathers lack of glasses, or her predilection for scaling trees and equipment, but overall she was much like the young boy from the beloved novels.

"I guess. They've never been very nice, and Dudley is just a bully, but they haven't tossed me in an orphanage yet." She visibly shuddered at the thought, and Roland suspected the orphanage was a recurring threat to the girl.

It made his blood boil, thinking of the abuse delivered to the kind young girl beside him.

"Still, it isn't right, them treating you like that," said Roland.

Heather looked away, clearly growing uncomfortable talking about her home life. Roland took the hint, and changed the subject, "So, what else do you like doing?"

She shrugged, feet idly kicking the air from her perch atop the monkey bars, "Dunno, I guess mostly just running and climbing."

She paused, casting her mind back to her dreams, "I dream about flying too, sometimes."

'_She must be thinking of Hagrid and the motorcycle,'_ thought Roland.

"That's neat. I wish I would dream about flying sometime, it sounds like a lot of fun," he said aloud.

Heather nodded in affirmation, "Yeah, it's a nice dream. I'm riding on a flying motorcycle, going over a great big city."

Roland was about to reply, when a whiny voice called from below, "Hey _Potter_, what do you think you're doin'?"

Heather stiffened, then visibly cringed away from the voice. Roland looked down to the source of the voice, and saw a very fat young boy with thick blonde hair, flanked by two other boys of the same age.

"I said," repeated the voice of Dudley Dursley, "Whatcha think you're doing?"

"Just sitting here, _Dursley,_" snarled Heather, already on the defensive.

"With him? Who do you think you are, Potter? Acting like you've got friends, you're just a no-good _freak._" Dudley sneered up at the pair, while his cronies egged him on.

Visibly upset, Heather called back, "Clear off Dudley, I don't wanna listen to you today."

Roland had had enough. He dropped nimbly down, confronting the other boy. "Leave her alone Dursley."

Dudley glowered at him, before responding, "Butt out, I'll do what I want. Why're you even hanging out with her anyway?"

"We're friends. That's what friends do." Roland wanted to make it a point of calling Heather his friend as often as possible.

Dudley sneered again, "Why would you wanna be friends with a freak like her?"

No more, Roland decided. "What, you suggesting I should be mates with the likes of you? As if. A dim oaf like you would bore me before the end of the day, same with your little lackeys there."

Dudley's eyes widened in shock at being insulted, before he narrowed them in anger, "Who do you bloody think you are, talking to me that way!"

"I'm Heather's friend, and if you keep harassing her you and I are going to have a problem, savvy?" Roland was furious, but kept a tight leash on his anger, lest it cloud his thoughts.

"You think you're just the dog's, don't you?" Dudley growled, his face flushing in indignation. His two toadies were looking riled up themselves, but Roland had eyes only for the child before him.

"Well I'm certainly not a great manky duffer like yourself, now am I?"

Dudley snapped at that, and made to swing at Roland, aiming to bloody his nose.

Exactly as Roland planned it.

He turned, just enough to avoid the blow, and drove his knee up into Dudley's protruding stomach at speeds rivaling that of trained fighter.

Dudley immediately fell to ground, retching.

"D!" yelled Flunky One, while Flunky Two rushed Roland, barreling into him and driving the smaller boy to the ground. He began windmilling his arms in an attempt at bloodying the boy beneath him, but was mostly deflected.

Roland was fairly certain he could get things under control still, until the other one delivered a kick to the side of Roland's head, knocking the wits out of him and leaving him defenseless against the blows raining down on his head.

This continued on for only a moment, before a loud shriek erupted from above, and an unseen force drove the two larger boys off of Roland and into the air, landing a short distance away.

Roland groaned, and sat up, holding his head. He was still disoriented from the surprise kick and variety of punches to his skull, but he still saw the two boys pick up their leader and scamper off in the direction of Privet Drive.

"Ohmygod ROLAND!" Heather was at his side, arms around his shoulders and sobbing into his shirt. He awkwardly put his arm around her, and tried to reassure her that he was alright.

"Heather, it's alright, I'm alright, it's okay." The soothing word washed over the hysterical girl, until she at last calmed down, only sniffling occasionally.

"See? Look, I'm okay. Just a couple bruises." There was a wicked tender spot on his forehead, but overall he felt okay.

Heather looked up and examined his face, gingerly reaching out to touch the purple and brown bruise forming. She drew her hand back after a moment, and looked away.

"I'm sorry..." she said softly.

"Sorry for what?" asked Roland, lost as to her meaning.

"You got hurt because of me..."

"No, I got hurt because I tried to win in a two-on-one fight." He should have known better, of course Dudley's cronies would jump in.

Heather muttered something unintelligible, and Roland frowned. "What was that?"

"I really am a freak," she said despairingly, eyes tearing up.

'_She must be talking about that blast that threw those boys off of me...'_ thought Roland.

"No you're not." he said firmly.

She shook her head, denying his words.

"You don't understand, I _do things,_" she whispered.

"So? Doesn't mean you're a freak."

She blinked, before looking back up at him, confusion etched across her face.

"I do things sometimes too, you know," confided Roland, referring to his memories of accidental magic, "Things like changing the colors of my bedroom, or breaking things, and once I even levitated a _book._"

Heather's eyes widened, and she clutched Roland's shirt tightly.

"So, see? You're not a freak. We both do things." Roland nodded, confident in his logic.

"R-really?" she stammered, still somewhat disbelieving.

"Yeah, really."

She stared a second longer, then buried her head back into his chest, sobbing once again. Confused at this sudden turn around, Roland attempted to soothe his friend once more, but stopped once he heard her voice.

"I t-thought I was _a-alone_," she sobbed, staining his shirt with her tears.

Realization crystallized in his mind, and Roland hugged the relieved girl tightly, giving her the friend she had needed for so long.

"You'll never be alone. Not while I'm here," he promised, to both Heather and himself.

Nothing was going to stop him from protecting this girl from forces who would seek to harm her.

Not now, not ever.

**[A/N]**

**Well, here it is. The first chapter of '_Never Walk Alone'_. **

**This is my first published story, and I give it to you, dear readers, in hopes that you find it to your liking. I truly hope you enjoy the tale I have for you, because as long as all goes well, it's going to be a _doozy._ Let's just say I have a lot of ideas that have been begging to escape into the world.**

**Please, leave a review, even if it's just a simple "I like it!". If you have PMs turned on, I will answer questions as best as I can without giving any important plot points away. Please point out any mistakes (I hope I got them all), and tell me what you think.  
**

**Until next chapter, I bid you farewell.**


End file.
